


we're just a band of little merrie men

by coykoi



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Protective Michelle Jones, Robin Hood - Freeform, Stealing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, fairytale AU, good people really do exist, robberies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: "This is why I keep telling you to make your suit bulletproof. Because that was a close call, dude. You’re getting worse at dodging.”“I’m not getting worse. They’re just getting better at shooting.”
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797901
Comments: 18
Kudos: 78
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	we're just a band of little merrie men

**Author's Note:**

> whoo day 3
> 
> I can very much see Peter as Robin Hood, so you know I had to do it.

Peter rests his head against the cold brick wall of the alley, trying to stifle his grunt as a sharp sting of pain goes through his leg. The bullet went clean through, and now he’s sitting in a puddle of his own blood.

“This is why I keep telling you to make your suit bulletproof,” Ned mutters, wrapping the bandage a little too tight. “Because that was a close call, dude. You’re getting worse at dodging.”

“I’m not getting worse,” he protests weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “They’re just getting better at shooting.”

“Can’t really blame them when their target is wearing the flashiest colors ever. You should’ve gone with the black, and honestly, just stick with the black. Red and blue? Worst combination ever if you’re trying to be discreet.”

“I thought those colors were heroic,” Peter mumbles, ducking his head.

“But this isn’t hero’s work, Peter.”

Peter suddenly feels very awake now, and he uses that energy to frown at Ned. “I know it’s not, but it’s better than nothing. We’re robbing _robbers_ , Ned, and the money that they’ve stolen is going to good people. Like...the nice Dominican lady that gave me a churro. She can’t afford her taxes. And then there are the tenants on the first floor of our apartment building that always help May bring in her groceries. Rent is expensive.”

“There’s gotta be a less dangerous way to do it, because...my god, Peter. You just got fucking shot. This kind of stuff gets on the news, and everyone’s going to see it. They’re going to be aware—”

“The news. Shit—it’s on the news,” Peter groans.

“Yeah. That’s what I just said,” Ned says slowly, as if he got a concussion instead of a bullet to the leg.

Peter struggles to sit up, fishing around for his phone. “No, I mean...MJ. She’s going to see it—and _May_. Oh, my god.” There are nine collective missed calls from both of them. 

Before Ned even has a chance to react, his ringtone of _Wannabe_ starts blasting in the small space they’ve crammed into. He takes one look at the Caller ID and his eyes widen. “Speaking of, MJ’s calling me. Why is she calling me instead of you?”

“I think she’ll do anything she can to yell at me,” he mumbles, and Ned nods like a bobble-head, simultaneously shoving the phone into his chest. “I don’t want to answer it!”

“I don’t want to answer it, either!”

“Neither of you have to answer it.”

Peter looks up and finds Michelle standing at the entrance of the alley, phone in one hand and the other crossed over her chest. Other than the concerned crease between her brows, her expression gives nothing away.

“MJ,” he greets with a wince, attempting to stand up, but his leg isn’t having it. She shakes her head, thoroughly unimpressed. “How...how did you even find us?”

“Tracker,” Michelle says, kneeling next to him. She pokes a slender finger at the center of his chest. “In your suit. I wired it to my phone because I knew this was going to happen again, and I _knew_ you weren’t going to tell me.” Her gaze rakes him up and down, like a parent preparing to scold their kid.

“I’m sorry,” Peter responds quietly. “I didn’t mean to get shot—”

“I figured as much,” she dryly comments. “That’s not my point. I’m mad at you, and May...May is _really_ mad at you. She said she’s going to break your LEGO Death Star in front of you.”

Ned groans loudly in the background. “That took _ages_ to rebuild.”

“You have to stop doing this, Peter.”

“I can’t—I can’t stop doing this,” he forces out. “There are people who need money and a lot of it. I’m taking it from the bad guys and giving it to the good guys because that’s what they deserve. That’s fair.”

“I know. I’m not trying to talk you out of doing illegal actions to stop illegal actions,” she clarifies softly. “I’m saying you have to stop keeping us out of the loop. You promised me, remember? We had an agreement.”

“I remember…”

Michelle nods. “Then you also remember what we agreed to if you broke it.”

“Yeah,” Peter admits mournfully. “If I don’t tell you about a robbery expedition, then you would get to supervise the next three. But—MJ, you don’t understand. They’re dangerous and you could get _hurt_ —”

“No shit, Peter. You got fucking shot. That’s why you’re going to stop chasing bad guys, because they’ve got guns and not nearly enough money to make the dangers worth something.”

“Well...what do you suggest instead?”

“Steal from the rich. Give to the poor. There’s a lot of big money in this city, and it’s all under one name.”

“You’re not saying we should steal from Tony Stark,” Ned speaks up, curiosity coloring his tone.

“I’m saying exactly that. He can spare a penny or two.”

Peter frowns, taking Michelle’s hand as she helps him stand up. He has to use her as a crutch. “But...how would we even get into Stark Industries?”

“Lucky for you, I have a job interview scheduled with Pepper Potts this Thursday,” she informs them with a crack of a smile. “And I need my support system there.”

“Um, Peter. Why exactly didn’t we include MJ in our plans earlier? No offense, but her ideas are so much better than yours—”

“Gee. Thanks, Ned.” Peter faces Michelle, trying not to put pressure on his leg. “Are you sure you want to do this? Like, one-hundred percent sure? Because sixty-seven percent isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Yes, dork. I like where your morals are at. I’d just rather take the less lethal path,” Michelle says with a shrug. “Besides, I doubt he’d shoot you because that would look bad for him. The worst that could happen if you’re found out...maybe getting sued?”

“Oh.”

“Relax.” She bumps his shoulder, smiling slightly. “We’ve got this.”

Peter nods, giving her a more relaxed grin back. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Michelle’s cheeks redden, and she looks away. “Once or twice.”

“Is no one going to mention the fact that May is probably preparing to smash our Death Star right now?”  
  


* * *

  
Peter’s leg is still not healed all the way by the time Thursday comes around. It would be so much easier if he had enhanced regeneration, but no. The universe wasn’t kind enough to grant him such conveniences. 

So, he’s resorted to crutches.

Ned’s the one giving him a skeptical look as they pull up to Stark Industries. “Are you sure your leg isn’t going to hinder the plan at all? Because, uh, no offense, but if we need to run, I’m not carrying you.”

“I’ll be fine, Ned,” Peter assures him.

Michelle twists in her seat to look at them both. “Okay, I hope you two know what you’re doing because I’m going to be the one keeping Pepper busy. From what I’m aware of, Stark is at a meeting right now somewhere in the building, so don’t…”

Peter smiles at his girlfriend, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, MJ. Where’s your faith in us? We’re, like, the most skilled thieves...ever.”

“O- _kay_ ,” she says, rolling her eyes while getting out of the car.

The three of them walk towards the entrance and the front desk. Michelle does all the talking, thank god, finagling their access to go up with her. The elevator they take is large and spacious, mirrors reflecting them on every side.

“You have your suit on underneath?”

“Yep. It’s the black one this time,” Peter confirms. The elevator reaches Michelle’s designated floor, and they all step out. “So...do we wish you good luck?”

Michelle lips tug into a smirk. “It would be funny if I actually got the job, huh?” She shakes her head, straightening her dress jacket. “Well, you know what to do. I’ll text you when it ends.”

“Gotcha,” Ned says, and Peter gives her finger-guns. “So...the living quarters is on the top floor?”

“Yeah. There are a lot of employees around, so you might need to find somewhere quiet to do your Guy in the Chair work. Hack the security feed and that’s all, just in case.”

“Okay, yeah, and I’ll distract if necessary.”

They split up, Ned heading down the corridor and Peter going back in the elevator. With no one else around, he quickly strips into his suit, old clothes dumped into his backpack and crutches abandoned.

The suit is what gives him stealth. When wearing it, he’s quick and agile, and he blends in easier. Not to mention that there’s an adhesive quality to the fabric that makes it so he can climb walls, which—you know—is _awesome_. 

Peter jumps to the ceiling of the elevator where the trapdoor is. But, then the metal box rumbles to a stop, and the doors open again. Some employees step in, oblivious to him hanging above them. 

He waits until they get off before scraping the trapdoor open, and boom. He’s on top of the elevator. 

The shaft is tall...really tall. It takes a while for Peter to scale all the way to the top, and he refuses to look down. His fear of heights isn’t going to be of much help here.

Peter balances himself on the edge of the top floor and uses whatever strength he was given to try prying the metal elevator doors open. They don’t budge in the beginning, and it’s kind of embarrassing. His muscles strain underneath his suit, and eventually, the doors slide apart.

He steps inside, finding it slightly unbelievable how much the supposed living quarters is lacking. There’s a couch, TV, table, all the standard things. But, honestly, for a billionaire, Peter expected a crystal chandelier and a couple of gold bars. 

There’s an expensive-looking watch on the table, which he sweeps into his bag. A few coins that could buy someone a nice meal. At the back of his mind, he wonders if there’s a safe lying around.

Peter walks into a back room, which is actually the bedroom. He notices with slight disdain how many pieces of expensive jewelry are sitting on the dresser. They all go in the bag.

He checks under the bed, in the closet, and even behind the mirror, raking in plenty of valuable items that could get a pretty penny.

But still no safe.

Someone like Tony Stark _has_ to have a safe.

Peter sighs, turning in circles, trying to think where someone this rich would hide it. 

His phone suddenly dings with a text. Frowning, Peter grabs it from his pocket and sees that it’s Ned.

‘ _dude, tony is on his way up right now. meeting ended early. get out of there._ ’

Unfortunately, he knows he doesn’t have enough items, but it’s too late. The elevator doors ding, and Peter scrambles up to the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing.

Tony walks in, his fancy Testoni shoes clicking against the hardwood. The first thing he does is loosen his tie before going straight towards the table of scotch, pouring himself a generous amount.

There’s a beat of silence where Peter doesn’t even blink, hoping his thudding heart isn’t audible to anyone else.

“You must think that anyone who uses money as a decoration must be an asshole,” Tony suddenly speaks up, gesturing blindly to the dining table centerpiece. The flowers look suspiciously like folded dollar bills. “Believe it or not, that was a gift.”

Peter swallows nervously, knowing that the whole plan now is a bust. It’s his fault completely. He drops back down to the ground. “How...did you know I was here?”

Tony turns around, his lips curved upwards slightly. He looks oddly amused for someone who was about to be robbed. “Well, intuition. Eyes in the back of my head. And...the reflection in my bottle of alcohol.”

“Oh.”

“Care to explain?”

“Um. Not really,” Peter mumbles, clutching his bag tighter.

Tony nods slowly, rubbing his jaw. “What if I bribed you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Scooch.” Tony waves Peter over to the side and kicks up the corner of the carpet. There’s a floorboard that sticks up a little bit, and he steps on one end, making the other end raise. 

“You...keep your money in the floor?”

“Well, I certainly don’t keep it in my bathroom to bathe in,” Tony snorts, pulling out a checkbook. “Okay. Explain, and I’ll write you a check. Really, I just don’t want you to run off with my fiancée’s engagement ring that you swiped off the dresser.”

“Sorry,” Peter utters, pulling the diamond ring out and tossing it over. He catches it with one hand. “I just...you have so much. You’ve got a good life, living in a place like this, and...flowers. Made of _money_. And then there are people who don’t have this kind of stuff. Good people, but they can barely afford rent. Bills are expensive. My friends and I...we’re trying to help them. This isn’t for us.”

Tony shifts on his feet, arms crossed against his chest. “What’s your name, kid?”

“You’re not going to...sue me, are you?” He doesn’t answer, so Peter clears his throat. “Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker,” he repeats thoughtfully before pulling a pen out of his breast pocket, tapping it against his checkbook. “Peter, how much should I make this check out for?”

Peter blinks. “I’m sorry. What?”

“It’s a check. You cash it at the bank for money.” Tony raises an eyebrow. “You do know how checks work, right?”

“What—yeah, of course I know how checks work! I just...what are you saying?”

Tony sighs. “Look, you’re not wrong here. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. It’s ridiculous. Pepper and I can only take so many cruises before getting seasick. But...if _you_ and your friends can make good use out of what I don’t need, then I’d rather you do it.”

“Really? I mean, you actually believe me?” And maybe asking that question didn’t really help his case, but Peter’s in shock.

“If you’re lying, then that’s on your conscience. Not mine,” he says, shrugging. “But I’ve seen the news. You were the one stealing from robbers, right?”

“Yeah...that was...me.”

“This is a step up. Let the police handle those crazy fools.” Tony glances down, scribbling something in his checkbook. “And anytime you need money for those good people you know, just come ask me instead.” He rips the check out and hands it over.

“Two-hundred thousand—I think this is too much, Mr...uh, Mr. Stark. Really—”

“You know what to do with it, kid.”

“Wow. Thank you,” Peter says sincerely, smiling. “You’re really nice.”

Tony chuckles, brows raising. “Well, that sure makes me feel better about myself. Pepper was interviewing this one girl, and I stopped in—and you know what? She called me an asshole and not even behind my back.”

Peter blinks. “That was my girlfriend.”

“Oh. In that case, maybe she was right. You kids do seem to be wiser than my generation, so.”

“Hah, maybe,” he says with a quiet laugh. “Thanks again, Mr. Stark. Do you...uh, want the rest of your stuff back?”

Tony begins to shake his head no but then stops. “Wait, actually, yes. Pepper will kill me if I lose another pair of her pearl earrings.”  
  


* * *

  
“Such a sweet bunch. I unfortunately only have one churro left to give, but you all split it,” the nice Dominican lady tells them after they hand her what’s needed to pay taxes for a very long time. 

“Aw, thank you,” Peter says, grinning. “We’ll see you around, ma’am.”

She gives them a little wave. “Have a good day, youngsters.” And then she walks away, leaving the three of them alone with what’s left of their cashed check.

“She is so nice,” Ned exhales softly. “I love old people.”

Peter nods in agreement before looking down. “Well. Now that we’ve paid her and the tenants, what are we supposed to do with the rest of this money?”

Michelle drapes an arm around both of their necks and starts guiding them down the street. “I know of this old homeless shelter around the block that I used to volunteer at. They could use some money like that.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Sounds perfect,” Peter murmurs with a smile, tangling their fingers together.

What they’re doing, it isn’t _hero's_ work.

You don’t need to be a hero to do it.

But it’s still good work all the same, and Peter is pretty happy with how it’s all turning out.


End file.
